


Petrichor

by bobbiewickham



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:21:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbiewickham/pseuds/bobbiewickham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac in the falling rain. Written for a prompt from tumblr user chainsawpoet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petrichor

It had been raining and now it was not.

"The earth after it rains has the most beautiful scent in the universe, because it promises the birth of new flowers, new insects, new crops in the fields and frogs in the lakes," Jehan had said one evening, and Courfeyrac had suspected him of being drunk as well as foolish. Paris after a rainfall smelled like damp stones and dirty humans and rats. Hardly the stuff of Romantic fantasies.

But no, he should not think of Jehan, not yet. At the very end, maybe, but not while there was still work to be done.

"You will gatch gold, Gourfeyrag," Joly had said, looking worriedly at the dripping sky, and Joly was still here, ready to hold the center of the barricade with him, and that was a much better thought to have. Joly was still here, still sniffling with his cold, worsened by the rain. It had been raining and now it was not and the earth would be soaked again soon, very soon, but for now it was not. For now it was not.

Courfeyrac looked over to see Combeferre shoving his hair out of his eyes, peering into the distance. On his other side was Enjolras, who turned to look at Courfeyrac. “It will not be long now.”

Courfeyrac smiled. “Good, I grow impatient. They are very rude to keep us waiting.” In truth he was not impatient. He had never been calmer. There was nothing else to do, nowhere else he would be, and if the immediate future promised the roar of blood, the present was magnificently still and bright. Courfeyrac waited in the center until the future came, and held it when the world became hot and loud and wet once more. Jehan would have wept to see it, Courfeyrac knew; still, he would have marveled at the cruel splendor of this minor apocalypse. 


End file.
